Long after darkness had fallen over the stone monastery and its adjacent lush gardens, a middle-aged Franciscan in the slumber of denial was about to wake up. 'My brother-in-arms'. That's what was whispered discreetly into his ear, sending him to a cloud he'd never thought attainable and sparking a sense of fulfilment rarely yielded by matins or vespers. As sweat soaked his armpits, a stray arm brushed abruptly against his fingers. Half-coherent words and clumsy caresses activated an engine long dormant, revving curiosities as the two monks vaulted over the threshold, unaware of what pleasure or penance awaited them.
Adam Smith
17/1/2018 12:31:17 am
Way to set a mood. Terrific imagery and a compelling tale.
Adrian Slonaker
23/1/2018 06:24:30 pm
Thanks very much, Adam. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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